The Madness Season, page 34
"Old friends," he said quietly, and stepped forward to grasp my hand. A ritual of his disguise. He was more graceful than Paes', but not as comfortable in his body as Kiri herself. Something about him made me wary; I touched him no longer than I had to. He was grinning as he moved to Kiri, and something passed between them as they touched. Amusement, perhaps, at how easily humans panicked.
"Sorry to leave so soon," Ria apologized, taking up a heavy canvas bag and strapping it to one shoulder. When it was in place she hesitated a moment, and I saw the color leave her face. Weaker than she looks, I decided. Or perhaps ill? Instinctively I moved to help, but she shrugged me away, and smiled a smile that was just a little strained. "See you at dinner shift," she promised the Marra, and nodded a farewell to us.
The door closed behind her, sealing us in whiteness.
"Kiri," Kost mused. "An interesting name." Amusement was plain on his face. Meaning he had gone out of his way to put it there. "Who named you?
"And what does yours mean?" I snapped.
His piercing gaze fixed on me. "Well trained, isn't he? It means new beginning. That which challenges the old. Appropriate?"
"I see."
He was about to say something—but then his eyes narrowed suddenly and he stepped toward me, as if to make contact. I quickly made it clear, by reestablishing our distance, that that was unacceptable.
"What is it?" he asked Kiri.
"A human male," she said quietly. "And his name is Daetrin."
"An embodied mass-changer," I added, knowing the power of those words.
"It is possible? ... I suppose so. You are here. And there's no denying the oddity of your existence, I could read that from a mile away. There's a lot I'd like you to explain ... but later." His eyes fixed on Kiri.
"You called me here. To join me?"
She shook her head, and I thought I saw distaste in the gesture. "But I do need your help."
He waited.
"I have news that must be spread. Only you have the contacts—"
"I'm not a news service."
"You're the closest thing we have. You told me you were in contact with many of the Marra. No one else is."
"True . . . but does the situation merit my personal attention?"
"It does."
He smiled. It was a distasteful expression. "I'm listening."
She told him. The whole story, from our arrival in Suyaag to Paes' death, deep within the tunnels of the Old Ones' city. And I watched him. Watched as the arrogance gave way to surprise, and then uncertainty. I wondered if there wasn't also fear, somewhere in there. An emotion he would never willingly display.
"You're saying a Marra died," he said at last. "Not possible."
"I'm telling you, I saw it! Held his life in my hands, as it faded into nothingness. Searched the vicinity of expiration, on all levels . . . and found nothing. Nothing!"
"The implications are ... unpleasant."
Talk about understatement.
"But it happened," she insisted. "Can happen to others, if they forget what they really are." Might even happen to you, she implied, but he played at not understanding.
"Killed by loss of memory," he mused. "What a fantastic concept! He believed he could die, so in fact he did. Rather frightful," he finally admitted.
"Terrifying," she agreed. I thought I heard a tremor in her voice.
"But it could be put to good use. Could unify us, against a common enemy." He laughed softly, an ominous sound. "Suits my purposes well enough. And I know you don't approve of me, or what I'm doing. So why, little-lost-Marra? Why put this in my hands, when you know I'll use it?
"You're the only one who can spread the word," she said quietly. "And unless more Marra know, more Marra may die."
"And no thought for your precious embodied folk? Such as this creature?" He indicated me. "No thought for the pets of yours that I might dominate, whom you would rather see free—"
"Stop it," I snapped. "She brought you information. Isn't that enough?"
"Ah, how protective! Have you replaced the Saudar- kreda, Kiri? Found a new master? I hope he treats you better than the old ones."
"I'm not—" I began, but a look from Kiri warned me to silence.
"That isn't an issue," she said.
"But he is kreda, yes?"
She hesitated, glanced at me. "The relationship has followed that pattern."
"Replaced one master with another, then. Well. The habit was too strong in you, after all. I should have realized that, when first we talked."
"At least I'm still following a Marra pattern," she snapped.
Kost was about to answer when the door flew open. Ria stood at the threshold, angry and frustrated.
"Fred's visiting," she said abruptly. "Niam sent some of us home. Didn't want Raayat germs on the tissue, I guess." She kicked off her shoes and grimaced. "This only happens when there's a lot to do. I'm going to—"
Then she saw my face, and stopped. "Are you all right?"
"Tell me about Fred," I said softly.
"Some Raayat from level three. Yaan's group. Gave its name as Frederick, when they asked. Harmless enough—until crazytime, that is, and then we're all dead anyway, so why waste time now, dreading it?
Tyr is as Tyr will be."
"From the Talguth?" I asked her. My throat was suddenly dry. It couldn't be my Frederick. Could it?
She shrugged. "How should I know? Yaan could probably tell you, or someone in his lab group. I think they talk to the thing." She was sliding her feet into soft-soled slippers, and unbuttoning her lab coat as she spoke. "Love, I'm off to rec." She yawned, and swayed for a moment as exhaustion overtook her.
"They're meeting there . . . Terra, I feel awful."
"Have something to eat," he said mechanically. Something in his voice—and her condition—gave me a cold feeling inside. Because I suddenly recognized the pattern of their relationship. "You don't take care of yourself."
She wrinkled a kiss at him, and nodded goodbye to us. A moment later she was gone; the white door snicked shut behind her.
"You don't have to kill to feed, do you?" I spoke quietly, but even so, accusation gave my voice biting impact. "Or even leave a mark."
He smiled. Amused. "Fertile humans provide excellent nourishment. Or didn't you know that? Didn't your Marra explain that, when it explained everything else?"
"The it is a she, " I pointed out. Kiri's hand was on my arm—a warning—but I ignored it. "Understand?"
"The she, my dear human, is an unsexed bio-phenomenon that has no pronoun in your language. And if it appears to be female, remember that the greatest intensity of consumable life takes place during sexual—"
"Enough!" Kiri snapped.
"—involvement. Such as your own?"
I moved forward, obviously hostile. Her hand tightened on my arm, holding me back. He glared, but there was laughter in his eyes.
"Does he supply you with food?" he asked Kiri. "Or require it himself? Perhaps he feeds on you instead."
In answer she pulled me toward the door. "This accomplishes nothing, Kost. We'll get settled. I'll come back. And keep out of my interaction next time," she warned.
His laughter accompanied us out.
In the hallway. I stood shaking, with rage and fear both. He could kill me with a touch ... but Christ, how I longed to wring his neck! Just once. Even if it wouldn't accomplish anything.
She watched me attempt to calm myself, hesitating to touch me.
"He baited you, you know."
I nodded. "He sure did."
"He wants you to get angry."
"Then he must be very happy."
"Is that . . ." She hesitated. "Is that all this is?"
I knew what she meant. She was afraid that something between us might have been lost, when he revealed the truth. I looked up suddenly, pained that she should doubt me. "Not you, Kiri. I knew all that. Not about the sexual thing. . . . No, not about that at all. And I'm not sure how to take it. "But that couldn't have been why you chose a female body; you never tried to—"
And then blind rage overwhelmed me and I had to stop. "It isn't you," I repeated. "You never lied to me about what you were. I understand that."
She paused, and I could see her thinking. Puzzling over the complexity of human emotional response. "Is it because he insulted me? A male protective response? "
It was, a little, and I nodded. Only later did I realize that it was a kind of compliment to her, that I had reacted in such a way. But that wasn't the whole of it.
I regarded the door before us, and thought of the Marra who stood beyond it. And the woman he lived with, her vitality gradually seeping out, drained by his presence. A woman who was that much closer to death, each time she affirmed life with her passion. I wondered how to give a name to the hate that was boiling up inside me. The revulsion.
And finally I found the word. The perfect word. An Earth-word, that was properly chilling in all its connotations.
"It's just that I never met a vampire before," I told her.
* * *
The master lab on the third floor of Five's science complex was . . . well, a lab. A real lab. Not some Tekk imitation, propped up with 1930's cabinetry and real glass test tubes. Nor some Tyrran artifice, all gleaming white and spotless chrome, where even a germ wouldn't feel welcome.
I walked through the double doors and stood there, breathless, trying to take it all in. It was cluttered.
Delightfully, deliciously cluttered. An enormous room, and every inch of it was filled with marvelous things; one couldn't have taken a step without tripping over some vital instrument. Beakers of twenty-first century plasteel crowded together on shelves, turning the bland artificial light into a rainbow symphony of spectral colors. Machines I had once used huddled close by machines I had only read about, and farther still were machines whose functions I couldn't even guess at. And on every table, notebooks and slides and calculators and magnetic clamps, and jars of half-empty pens and broken pencils, and even a sandwich ... I blinked and realized tears were coming to my eyes.
"There was a part of Earth that I loved," I whispered to Kiri. "I thought it was gone. I was wrong. It came here."
There were several people at the far end of the room, crowded about a circular table. As they drew apart and turned to us, I saw a holograph rising from the table's center. Beautiful. Precise. How many years had it been, since Earth had seen that kind of technology?
"Can I help you?" The oldest of the group approached us. That he was their leader was clear from the way the others regarded him. His person was as cluttered as the lab itself, numberless items stuffed in every pocket. There was a brightness in his eyes, a restless curiosity, that I hadn't seen in anyone in too long a time. Maybe centuries.
"We're from Eight," I said, and I introduced us by our borrowed numbers. That explanation proved to be enough. He welcomed us with a warm handclasp, muttering words of reassurance. We were welcome. Please join them. There were others from Eight in this complex, did we know them? We listened to all the names and shook our heads, trying to look perplexed. We had learned that the accident in Eight had resulted in brain damage for many survivors, often affecting memory; we were safe in our lies, then, as long as we were vague enough for them to assume that was the reason.
He invited us in. I managed to make myself follow him. I would have preferred to stop and examine things, to sit myself down and try everything myself . . . my eyes were wandering over everything as we walked, trying to take it all in. And I hungered. God, I had forgotten what that hunger was like. Food is nothing to it. Blood is a mere distraction. The hunger to learn, the desire to know, is like nothing else in my experience. How had I managed to suppress it, for so very long?
Introductions. To a tall woman, lean features. Tireza. An Oriental man; Chinese ancestry, perhaps?
Sung. Another man, features somewhat Amerindian. Tesla. Much to my delight, all of them had hair.
And in the center of their table, a brain. They were peeling away its image, layer by layer, probing deep into its structure. The image's resolution was so fine that every cortical convolution was crisp and clear; it seemed that if one looked closely enough, one would be able to make out individual cells.
I forced myself to look away, to hear what they were saying. About us being welcome. And asking why we'd chosen to come to this particular lab, while assuring us, simultaneously, that travelers from Eight needed no specific reason.
"We heard about Frederick," I told them. "We were curious."
At that, the woman named Tireza laughed. "Terra, it gets more visitors than we do! Who was that man the other day—"
"Who? Tiro?"
"No. That new one ... Ria's new boyfriend. You know."
"Kost," Tesla supplied.
"Yes, Kost. Came up here like he meant to interview the thing . . . good thing for all of us it hasn't been around lately. It might have pitched a fit if he'd gotten to it."
"He's left?" I asked.
"Who? Kost?"
"The Raayat."
Tesla grinned good-naturedly. "Yaan drove it off."
Yaan exhaled noisily; clearly he objected to that interpretation.
"Will he be back, do you think?" I was trying not to sound too anxious; God alone knew what they would make of that. But they took it fairly well.
"Soon enough, I expect. Who else will tolerate it?"
"There's more to it than that," Yaan said quietly. Something about what he said, or the way he said it, seemed to quiet them all. "One way or another, it'll be back. I promise you."
He followed my gaze to the flawless image at the table's center, and back again. "Have you done this kind of work?"
"Years ago," I said, choosing my words very carefully, "I studied the human brain."
There was a snort of approval from someone at the table, and the woman named Tireza pushed an unoccupied chair toward me. "Good enough!" she exclaimed. "We can always use an extra pair of hands around the place. Or two."
"You ought to ask them, first," Yaan pointed out.
I looked at Kiri. There was pride in her eyes—but a kind of sadness, too, that I had never seen there before.
I reached past the chair that was offered and pulled out a second, for her.
"We'd be honored," I told them.
* * *
You're healed, she said quietly, with that same vulnerable look that I remembered from the cave, outside Cantona. And I understood what she meant. What she was asking.
If I was healed, then the healer had no more duty.
I need you, I answered, and I took her hand. And for the time being, that was enough.
* * *
It was the lack of Eyes that made the difference. Or at least, the perceived lack of Eyes; Kiri and I had yet to see any evidence that the much-dreaded mechanism existed in the first place. But the Domes were guaranteed free of the visual bugs, and I believe this was part of the reason that we were welcomed into lab three's fold, strangers though we were. On the one hand, we were no threat: on the other hand, our unfamiliar mindsets—like any new stimulus—might inject something valuable into the charged creative atmosphere. And if we didn't quite know the nuts and bolts of domer science yet . . . there was the accident to blame for that, and plenty of time to learn. We were made welcome.
Frederick showed up on our third day. Yaan and Tireza and Sung and Kiri and I were in the lab, the usual firstshift crew. I was cleaning beakers. Kiri was cleaning beakers. The other three were dirtying them.
I heard a noise and turned around . . . and there he was. Twice as large and more festooned with aggressive hardware than I had ever seen him, but there was no mistaking the face.
"Frederick . . ." I whispered. For a moment I was too stunned by his sudden arrival to take in what it was he held in his arms. But I managed to remember that I was in a foreign body now, with no risk of discovery—and then I saw, without quite believing it, just what it was he was dropping on our main worktable, in the center of the room.
"This is trade," he announced.
It was another Raayat. A dead Raayat—Yaan made sure of that immediately—in excellent condition.
Only one jagged gash marred the gray-black of its skin, a hole in its chest region the size of a man's fist.
I looked at Frederick. There was blood on one of his spikes.
"Is it good?" he asked.
It seemed that no one could answer.
"You need Tyr brain, to compare with human. Yes? I bring it. So you can answer questions.
Understand?"
"We understand," Yaan managed hoarsely. "Thank you."
"It's . . . very helpful," Tireza offered.
"You can compare now?" Frederick demanded.
"Yes—with time to study it. Of course."
"Whatever you want," Sung offered.
"Good," the Raayat said. "I approve."
I moved forward. My heart was pounding wildly . . . but I had a hunch, and meant to test it.
"Does the Tyr know?" I asked Frederick. Aware that I was risking a lot, if my guess was wrong. "That you killed this one?" That you gave it to us was what I wanted to say, but it was enough if he answered the other question. More than enough, if his answer was no.
He looked at me for a long while, as though trying to place me. Or maybe that was my fear speaking; maybe he was simply contemplating the question.
"It is summer," he said finally, and turned and left the lab. Clearly, in his opinion, that was answer enough.
He left us stunned.
"Does he know," Tireza whispered, "that he just sold out his own people?"
"The question is not if he knows," I pointed out. Their eyes were upon me now, filled with questions.
"The question is, if he cares. "
YUANG: DOME PRIME
Ntaya was actually working on the chip when the Honn came for her. As opposed to her usual state, which was that of pointedly not working on the chip. It was, after all, her only means of stalling, of giving the domers enough time to come to their senses. She had to make it last.
The Honn-Tyr entered silently, and waited for her to notice it. Without a word it handed her a thin sheet of plyex, with the mark of the Dome Five fax beside the date in the upper corner.
